


i've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ballet, Banter, Bartenders, F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Humor, Multi, girls supporting girls, ward family shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>skye takes rosie for a much-needed night out. grant comes knocking at the door the following morning. </p><p>sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [shake the dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622536) by [serenitysea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a sequel of sorts to [shake the dust](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3622536). if you don't want to re-read it, basically what you need to know is: skye found rosie crying in the bathroom and brought her to this great little bar so they could get ripping drunk. rosie’s a ballerina with overbearing parents and cute (but mostly absent) brothers. she needed a night out. skye was happy to help a fellow sister in arms. this is the morning after.

There is some kind of infernal pounding doing pirouettes on the edges of her consciousness.

( _One night with Rosie and she’s already thinking in dancer terms. This does not bode well for her sanity, to be honest_.)

The pounding continues until Skye surfaces long enough to realise that it is a _literal_ pounding of someone attempting to _beat down her front door_.

And not in the metaphorical sense.

Skye stumbles out of bed and trudges into the living room with eyes half closed against the bright glare of daylight. “Whoever you are, prepare to die.” She slaps a hand against the wall for balance and yanks open the door with a snarl that dies on her lips.

Standing in front of her is quite possibly the most attractive man she’s ever seen.

Seriously.

Like, to the point where she’s pretty sure there are _laws in the universe_ against cheekbones and a jawline like _that_ and _oh god why did his muscles have to bunch so tightly under that black henley_ and –

“You can beat down _my_ front door _any time_ you want,” Skye mutters to herself, staring blankly as the mystery hunk begins ranting at her.

He’s paying approximately zero attention as she yawns against the back of her hand, content to let him get out his frustrations because nothing is really thick enough to penetrate the fog of her pre-coffee/post-hangover brain.

“And furthermore –” He finally stops, taking her in and the way she’s all but slumped against the doorframe for balance. “You’re not Rose.”

“Give the man a gold star,” Skye lifts a foot to absently scratch the back of her other leg. When he doesn’t seem compelled to expand on his declaration, and can only focus on the sight of her bare legs (she’d been _sleeping off a hangover_ , for god’s sake; everyone knew you slept in an (just barely) oversized tee and underwear when sleeping off a hangover), she rolls her eyes.

The awkward silence stretches out painfully. She’d give her left _arm_ for a coffee at this point.

“Can I _help_ you with something?” Skye finally asks, growing more fed up by the second. “I don’t know how you got this address or what your problem is –”

That seems to snap him out of his dazed shock. “ _My_ problem?”

“– But some of us are trying to _sleep_ ,” she raises her voice, talking over the incredulity in his tone while looking as imperious as one can without wearing any pants. “And we didn’t ask for some crazy fan to come disturb our slumber on a perfectly respectable Sunday morning –”

“– _Afternoon_ , actually,” he icily corrects, moving slightly until he is all but _looming_ over her and definitely do his very best at ignoring all laws of personal space.

“– So if you have a point to be making, instead of just lecturing the entire hallway on their sleeping habits –”

“– of which, yours could apparently use some _work_ ,” he snidely remarks, stepping even further into the apartment.

Skye’s jaw drops open. “Screw you,” she shoves him backward with all the strength she can muster – which might as well be nothing, considering he doesn’t budge an inch. “Jesus. What the hell even _are_ you? A robot?”

He opens his mouth to answer but is beaten to the punch by a feminine gasp.

Rose has stumbled out of the spare room, likely awakened by their shouting. She’s clad in the same perfectly respectable leggings and silk camisole Skye distantly remembers seeing last night, and clearly recognises the man glaring in the doorway.

“Oh god.” Rose looks slightly guilty. “I see you’ve met my older brother, Grant.”

Grant has the nerve to shift his eyes to Skye with a smugness that is _entirely_ uncalled for. “As always, it’s been an absolute _pleasure_ making the acquaintance of another one of your friends, Rosie.”

“I wouldn’t call it a pleasure,” Skye flicks a dismissive look at him before stepping aside so that he can properly come in and stop causing a general disturbance to her neighbors.

He casts a clearly dubious look at her shabby chic decor and seems to think better of proceeding beyond the entryway. “Rose. Grab your things. If we leave now, we’ll be able to get you back in time for rehearsals tonight.”  

Rose opens her mouth, as if to protest and then thinks better of it at the dark look on her brother’s face. She leaves the room without a word to either of them.

Skye whistles under her breath. “Dick move, Grant.”

Grant turns bored eyes on her. “I’m sorry. Was this a conversation you were actually part of?”

“Seeing as it takes place in _my_ apartment,” Skye boosts herself onto the arm of the couch and lets her legs swing idly, “I’m going to have to say _yes_. Yes, it is.”

“And what _exactly_ ,” the disdain is all but dripping from his voice, “Are you objecting to now? I know it can’t be the fact that I’m taking my sister off your hands, because she _doesn’t actually live here_.” As a quiet afterthought, he adds, “Thank god.”

“Can’t you see how _unhappy_ she is?” She leans forward in earnest, nearly losing her balance and almost falling off the couch. “For someone who claims to be Rosie’s big brother, you’re doing a crap job of protecting her.”

Judging by the way Grant stiffens, she’s hit a nerve. “And you’re suddenly an expert on my sister,” he smiles widely, the picture of insincerity, “having spent less than 12 hours with her. Oh, excuse me – less than 12 hours _sober_ with her.”

Instead of being hurt or answering in kind, Skye tips her head back and laughs. She’s shaking her head in mirth when Rose walks back into the room, her purse awkwardly snugged under one arm.

“I’ll get your clothes back to you as soon as I can,” Rose apologises, completely unprepared when the other girl unfolds from the couch to pull her into a gigantic hug. Rose stands there awkwardly for a moment, clearly aware of Grant’s carefully blank expression as she gingerly returns Skye’s embrace.

“Don’t worry about it, Ro.” The nickname slips out as Skye gives her one last fortifying squeeze. “You’re always welcome here.” She steps back and allows the other girl to gather her composure, flicking a glance to where Grant is waiting impatiently with the door half open. 

Rose offers a tiny wave and one more backward glance, and then Grant is herding her out without so much as a goodbye.

The apartment feels about ten times bigger than usual now that the two Ward siblings have left. Skye takes a moment to acknowledge the hurt she’d felt when Grant accused her of not knowing Rose well enough to look out for her and the way he’d silently judged her living quarters – they weren’t much, but they were _hers_.

Then she turns on some music and sets about making breakfast.

It was probably a good thing she’d never have to see him again.

What a douche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com)  
> \+ I HAVE A WEAKNESS FOR WARD SIBLINGS AND WARD FAMILY DYNAMICS OKAY???


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY WOW DON'T REVISIT FICS FROM 2015 I GUESS I STILL HAVEN'T LEARNED THAT LESSON YET NOW HAVE I???????

What a week. 

After getting fired from her latest job -- and feeling like crap because of it -- she’d had the brilliant idea of murdering a bottle of champagne to drown her sorrows. 

It had surprisingly not worked -- and left her with a fuzzy brain to boot -- nor had it succeeded in making her feel like _less_ of a failure. 

She briefly wonders about how Rose was doing, only slightly hurt that she hasn’t heard from the girl. Then again, if she had to contend with an older brother like Grant, she probably wouldn’t be so quick to jump ship either. 

Clearly, there is only one course of action to take.

Skye throws on a robe and wanders downstairs to the bar in search of orange juice. 

...At least, this is what she tells herself she’s looking for while she adds a generous amount of prosecco to her mason jar glass until she’s left with a lion sized mimosa. 

_Hair of the dog,_ right? That was a thing.

“Rough night?” a voice dryly inquires from the doorway. 

* * *

 

She turns to see Trip looking at her, the fondness in his gaze tempering the slight reprimand in his tone.

“Ugh.” She takes a big gulp, boosting herself on top of the closest bar stool. “More like a week full of Thursdays on crack and realising there’s no human decency in the world any longer.” 

“It’s almost Noon, Skye.” Trip stands, folding his arms and tilting his head to the side in consideration. “This have anything to do with that leggy brunette you dragged in here last weekend?”

“And her idiot overbearing ass of an older brother,” Skye mutters, swinging down from her seat to clean off the condensation left behind from the prosecco.

It isn’t like Trip to be around so early prior to doors opening, which means he must have a problem. The idea of taking care of _his issue_ is infinitely more appealing than dwelling on Rose Ward and her obnoxious -- if perhaps _slightly_ attractive -- brother, Grant. 

Sure enough, Trip ignores her grumblings and casts a speculative look at the schedule in his hands. “I’m short tonight. Marissa called out.” 

“Shocker,” Skye rolls her eyes, heading for the stairs. “I’ll help out -- but only if you make me breakfast!”

“You mean _lunch_ ,” he corrects, yelling after her. 

She shoots him a rude gesture before disappearing from view and Trip laughs, getting out the ingredients needed for a protein-heavy meal. 

_Problem solved._

*

Her feet are starting to pulse from being crammed into the heels she’d _thought_ were a good idea at the time ( _they weren’t_ ) and her arms are aching from hauling bottles around and trading back empties for hours. They’re well into the busiest part of the night when Trip comes over with a cheshire cat smile on his face. 

“ _No_ ,” Skye turns around, running the next load of glasses through the sanitizer. “Whatever it is you want, my answer is no.” 

“You haven’t even heard what I’m asking,” he laughingly replies, eyes on the crowd behind the bar as he cues up three draft beers for the high top server waiting for her round. 

“When you look like that, I know it’s nothing good.” 

“It’s time for your break.” Trip hands off the beers with an easy wink and pours a round of shots for the loud frat party at the other end of the bar. “And when _Tall, Dark and Handsome_ comes in looking for my best bartender by name, I can’t think of a better time for you to take it.” 

Despite the fact that she lives upstairs, Skye doesn’t often comes down to help behind the bar. While Trip has made it clear that she’s always got a regular position tending bar if she wants it, Skye tends to kick into different jobs rather aimlessly until she gets bored and moves onto the next. Only the true regulars know her by name and Trip would have never bothered her in the middle of a Sunday rush for that.

“Once again, my reputation precedes me...” Intrigued by the prospect of eye candy, Skye whirls back around. “All right. I’m game to blow off some steam with a handsome stud.” 

Trip lifts his chin, silently indicating the man at the end of the bar. 

Grant Ward stands impatiently, hands shoved into his perfectly creased blue jeans with a scowl on his face. He’s traded in the black henley for a dark button-down straining valiantly against his biceps -- _and why was she even going down this road right now what the hell was wrong with her_???

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Skye returns the scowl with a sickeningly sweet smile, flicking her eyes back to Trip. “Allow me to amend my earlier statement to exclude _that_ particular cretin.” 

“I’m shocked you even know the meaning of the word,” Grant acidly chimes in, apparently unable to just stand there and look pretty. 

_What? _She had **eyes** , didn’t she?_ She was only human, for god’s sake, and he was too damn attractive for his own good._

“I’m gonna let you two sort this whole mess out,” Trip sidles closer, firmly pushing Skye out of the bar and very nearly into Grant’s waiting arms. “Don’t come back until you do.” 

When she opens her mouth to challenge him, Trip drops the easy-going act and shakes his head. “I mean it, girl. That scowl you got isn’t exactly drawing people over.” 

Knowing that he’s right doesn’t make her any happier about it. 

“What do _you_ want?” 

“And here I thought you’d be so thrilled to see me again,” Grant drawls, casting his eyes back to where Trip has picked up her slack behind the bar. “Troubles at work? It can’t be that glowing attitude you’ve chosen to bestow on all your patrons this evening, can it?” 

She can feel the irritation bubbling under her skin. _What was it about this guy that was so fricking annoying?_ Only Trip’s pointed throat clearing and dark look has her thinking better of opening up a can of verbal abuse and slinging it his way in front of the entire bar. 

Skye clamps a hand over Grant’s wrist, letting her nails dig in until she sees a vein jump out on the side of his face. “Upstairs, _now_. Maybe we can talk about why you think it’s such a great idea to harass women while they’re at work.” 

*

She doesn’t even bother with the lock, knowing she left it unlatched after a quick bathroom break a few hours ago, and breezes into her apartment. The shoes are coming off her feet out of habit more than anything else -- an impulse she wishes she had curbed when it puts Grant at an even taller advantage -- before she gives him her attention. He’s giving her an incredulous look. 

“What.” 

“Do you really not lock your doors?”

Out of all the things she expected him to lead with, _that_ wasn’t it. “I --?” She’s so thrown off by the question that she can’t figure how to to respond.

Grant, however, seems to have no such problems. “You mean to tell me that my baby sister stayed here and _you didn’t even lock your doors_?!”

She rolls her eyes, dramatically flopping back on the couch. “Chill out, drama queen. Of course I locked the doors then.” 

_...She totally had. **Right**_?

“Then how do you explain --”

“-- I didn’t know I was required to _explain_ my bathroom habits during a busy shift, Counselor.” 

That shuts him up pretty quickly. 

“Right.” 

Skye lifts the arm covering her eyes to check on him. “Was there a _point_ to this visit, or...?”

All of the sudden, Grant appears supremely uncomfortable. He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “What did you mean before?”

She’s lost. 

Like, seriously, hopelessly lost. 

“ _Before_ , when? I tend to say a lot of things throughout the day --”

“-- Isn’t _that_ the truth --”

She ignores his muttered commentary. “-- So I’m going to need a little context here.”

“About Rose.” He jams his hands back in his pockets, looking frustrated. “You said she was --” 

“-- Unhappy.” The pieces fall into place as Skye sits up to peer at him more closely. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and there’s a line of tension running through his frame like he’s two seconds away from bursting out with it. 

_Something is not right_.

Because she likes Rose -- even if her older brother was an interfering (somewhat) clueless jackass -- and because she’s got a soft heart for people trying to do the right thing, _especially_ when it goes against their nature -- Skye relents.

“What happened?” She quietly asks, dropping her feet to the floor and giving him her complete attention. 

The complete lack of attitude in her voice must put Grant at ease, because he relaxes enough to unfold his arms and lean against the couch, tension visibly bleeding out of him. “We had a scare. She...” He drags a hand down his face, sighing heavily.

“Think of me as a complete stranger,” Skye chirps, trying to be helpful. 

He shoots her a dry look. “You _are_ a complete stranger.” 

“And yet I’m the one who you sought out for advice about your beloved baby sis.” When she spies the stiffness creeping back into his posture, Skye hastily tacks on, “For all you know, I could be a world renowned psychologist!”

“Who moonlights at a bar,” He replies blandly. 

“Maybe I have a lot of client issues to process,” Skye primly announces, getting up to rummage through the fridge. She comes back bearing two water bottles, chucking one his way without any warning.

Annoyingly enough, Grant catches it neatly before it can hit him. The small act of aggression seems to relax him even further ( _rich people were weird as hell_ ) and the next thing she knows, he’s dropping into the cushions next to her.

“Rose is the best.” He says it so simply that she knows he’s not bragging. It’s a statement of fact. “She’s been doing this for years. Could probably do the entirety of the Nutcracker with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back.” 

“I... don’t know what that means, entirely, but go on.” 

“She didn’t stick her landing the other day.” Some of the confusion she’s feeling must show on her face, because Grant continues, “Not sticking a landing is like... you suddenly remembering to lock your door all the time.” 

“Low blow,” Skye mutters, fighting hard against the smile that wants to curl slowly. 

He’s quiet for a long time before finally admitting, “It just isn’t done.” 

Skye tentatively reaches out, putting a hand on his arm. He’s so lost reliving the apparent traumatic experience of Rose falling that he doesn’t even register the move. “She’s... like, _eating_ and everything, right?”

Grant shakes his head as if to clear it. “Her diet has always been light during the season. The Company is kind of archaic like that and we’ve tried to talk to her but she just seems... so tiny these days.” 

“I shouldn’t have made her drink those margaritas,” Skye whispers, slightly horrified by their prior weekend. No wonder they’d hit the other girl like a mack truck. _No wonder Grant had been so pissed at her_. 

He pauses long enough in his reverie to catch the panic on her face and unconsciously reaches to cover her hand from where it rests on his arm. “Listen, Rose is a big girl. She makes her own decisions. If she needed to let loose for a night and shake off some of the pressure riding on her -- that’s her call.” 

Not entirely believing him, Skye nods slowly, reluctant to meet his eyes. “Then why are you _here_ , Grant?”

He stays silent for so long, just staring at her that she starts to think maybe he hadn’t heard the question in the first place. “Because she’s my kid sister. It’s my job to protect her. And somewhere along the way, I stopped doing that -- until you called me out on it.” 

*

 _ABORT MISSION ABORT_.

Skye sighs so hugely that it forces her back to arch into the couch even more deeply. 

This wasn’t exactly _blowing off steam with a handsome ~~stranger~~ cretin_ stuff. This was _terrible family drama and heavy duty **FEELINGS**_ stuff. 

Not exactly what she was signing up for, as far as life choices went. 

She chooses the path of least resistance. She doesn’t like committing too deeply to any one thing, much less a _person_. She believes in helping out people when she can and paying it forward, sure -- but is always careful not to form attachments that could grow roots and keep her in one place. 

Skye has a sinking suspicion this Ward family had the kind of issues and drama that wouldn’t cause roots so much as it would turn her life upside down and leave her grasping for any kind of stability in her already (admittedly) shaky existence. 

And while Skye ponders all of this, Grant keeps silent beside her. She appreciates that he lets her process it in her own way, and doesn’t try to rush her. Then again, he was probably raised with pesky things like _manners_ and there’s likely a good portion of him that is _aghast_ to have revealed all of this to a total stranger.

She knows she should be running in the opposite direction, _screaming_ right now. 

Skye reaches for the phone, and walks out of the living room to place the call, ignoring Grant’s squawk of outrage. 

Trip sounds like he has everything under control when he picks up. “Having a little too much fun with your handsome stranger?” He teases. 

“We got naked twenty minutes ago,” she retorts, with a sinking pit in her stomach that he’s going to see right through it. 

True to form, Trip starts to laugh. The sound carries easily over the merry symphony of glasses being refilled and drinks being made in the background. “Told you that bleeding heart was gonna get you in trouble someday.”

“Ugh.” Skye hangs up, tossing the phone on her bed. 

_Now what_?

She peeks around the doorframe to see Grant with his head in his hands. She can’t let him go home like this, looking all weirdly vulnerable and acting like a normal dude who cares about his little sister. 

This was so much easier when he was just some entitled douchebag looking down on her standard of living and throwing insults like confetti. 

He wasn’t supposed to turn into a real human.

She’s been on her feet for hours. No one would blame her for kicking him out and taking the rest of the night off. And yet. 

_Damn this bleeding heart of hers_.  

“Hey.”

His head snaps up and she watches him reel in his emotions to get up and leave. 

“So I’m just gonna --”

“-- Sit down.” Skye orders, marching back into the living room. She throws a heavy chenille blanket at him, inwardly pleased that he fumbles to catch it. 

“What the...?”

“Popcorn or alcohol?” She prompts, raising her eyebrows in question. 

“Uh --”

“Right, stupid question. _Obviously_ we need both.” Skye tosses the remote in his direction before ducking into the kitchen to get the popcorn started. 

It takes about fifteen seconds longer than she’d expected for Grant to wander into the kitchen looking adorably confused. “Listen I’m not really sure what’s going on, but I should probably --”

“-- Watch Star Wars and lament over the fact that somebody else’s family has it worse than you?” Skye nods, pushing a beer into his hand. “Excellent idea. Let’s go.” She loops her arm through his and drags them back into the other room until he’s forced to sit down or fall down on top of her. 

Grant elects to sit, nearly spilling the beer everywhere. He shoots her a dirty look. 

Skye shrugs. “C’mon. _Episode Four_ , chop chop. We have to start now if we’re going to get through the original trilogy tonight.” 

At last, this gets a reaction out of him. “The _entire_ original trilogy?!”

“Grant, I’m disappointed. Don’t you know you’ll never succeed at anything in life with that kind of attitude?”

“Because I _want_ to devote hours of my life to this venture.” The sarcasm in his tone is a thing of beauty.

Skye nudges him. “ _That’s_ the spirit.” 

He must sense that she’s not going to make it uncomfortable by bringing up what they had discussed before because she catches the brief look of relief in his eyes while the opening crawl fills the screen. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” Skye retrieves out a bottle of tequila from behind her back. “Any time someone mentions _The Force_ you have to take a shot.” 

"We’ll be dead before the movie’s over.” 

She grins widely. “But what a way to go.” 


End file.
